


Echo and Narcissus

by ink2819



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-04-08 05:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19100275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ink2819/pseuds/ink2819
Summary: Water. Pool. Swimming Trunks. A very fine Greg Lestrade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ruper Grave's beauty in 'Swimming With Men' detracted from the narrative XD

Mycroft was painfully aware that the charming detective started going swimming twice a week. He needn’t physically witness the surveillance footage himself---imagination alone was enough for him to suffer. In the nights, after a particularly tedious day, when Mycroft retired to the dark and quiet bedroom all by himself, he closed his eyes and saw Greg.

Greg in his tight speedos, emerging from the pool, body damp and cool as the porcelain tiles and smelling of chlorine.

One can imagine how Mycroft’s nights got significantly longer since he found out about Greg’s new hobby, and maybe, just maybe, the long nights he endured contributed to his choice of ambush of Greg a few months later.

 _Are you sure this is appropriate, sir?--_ was what Anthea wanted to say on their way to the facility. As she stole a few glances in the rear view mirror at her boss, she could not help but notice Mycroft acting out of his usual calm and collected self. The man looked so nervous. Knuckle between his teeth and eyes fixed outside the window, he forgot to blink, or even breathe. Sure, the younger Mr. Holmes had been again drawing troubles to himself, but this particular occasion was harmless in comparison to the other catastrophes in the past. Anthea did a bit of her own deduction on the fly. The true cause behind Mycroft’s distress, if not the coming visit of the Saudi Ambassador, would be the man they were about to meet.

Detective Inspector Lestrade, in a swimming pool.

The PA smiled to herself and settled in her seat. If they get there soon enough, her boss might even get to enjoy the view of his crush doing a bit of work out.

 

“I’ll wait for you outside, sir.” Anthea said with a blank face as Mycroft walked toward the gents changing room clutching his umbrella. Her boss replied with an absent half smile, clearly lost in thoughts.  

 

It was a Monday morning, and no one was in the place. There was just Greg, freestyling laps, that instantly recognizable silver and lightly tanned arms going up and down in a field of angelic blue.

“Detective Inspector.” Mycroft stood beside the pool and called, a little startled by his own voice echoing around the room. Greg had clearly failed to notice him, so he tried again.

“Lestrade.” He called. This time a little louder. Greg had reached the other end now, turning around without a sign of stopping.

Mycroft sighed in frustration and waited for the man to swim close. “Detect--Greg.” Mycroft was on the verge of shouting when Greg stopped with a splash and stood up.

“Mycroft? Why--” Greg yanked off his goggles and creased his nose at him, confused and...smiling.

“You were unreachable via your mobile. We need to talk.”

“Alright. Uh.. I need to get changed for work anyways.” Greg said as he headed towards the ladder. “Won’t have long, got a debrief with the chief at nine, if you don’t mind talking while I get ready.”

Mycroft swallowed as he realized what Greg meant by that, the man had to change, while they talk, in front of him. How he got himself into such a compromised position, Mycroft could not at all recall.

But never mind that, because out came Greg from the water. The muscles on his shoulders flaunting their masculine beauty as Greg pulled himself up with a grunt.

Mycroft’s chest felt a little too tight for breathing. The sight ousted whatever dream he had the moment he laid eyes on Greg. Dark hair clung to his bare chest and trailed down his belly, like the forechest of a timber wolf.

What Mycroft would do to have his hands on those hips.

Already blushing with an overheating brain, he dared not look further down.

“You keep well away, don’t want to ruin that posh suit of yours.”

Water was dripping and splashing everywhere, lovingly outlining his form. Greg’s arms went immediately folded across his pecs though Mycroft knew no reason on earth why the man could be insecure about. _God, by all means, ruin it all._

He stood like a statue carved by the finest hands in Rome, the nymph of love coming out of her bath.

Mycroft’s gaze must have been less discreet than he thought, as Greg laughed dismissively and commented. “Gone a bit soft, I know. That’s why I need the swimming.”

 _Nonsense._ Mycroft was almost angry with what he just heard. Greg’s physique was beyond mere beauty---it was amiable and...easy to fall for.

“I gotta..” Greg pointed toward the changing room with a huff of awkward laughter. “Look, couldn’t this wait?”

“I have a plane to catch, Inspector. I will be out of the country for the coming month.”

“M’kay. Come along then, would you?” Greg stalked pass him and led the way, bare feet tapping on the tiled floor. Mycroft could not look away this time as he followed with a lump in his throat. Wet, dark, and tight ( Oh Lord ) swimming trunks hugged Greg’s derriere in the most scandalous way possible. Such things should not be allowed to exist in the world. Mycroft made a mental note to return the regulation of sports apparel to the standard of Victorian times. Each second of his stare lingered on those muscular thighs led to their own pitfall, eating away Mycroft’s seamless resolve.

 

When Greg walked out from the shower, a towel hanging low beneath the little bit of soft flesh on his tummy, Mycroft came dangerously close to forget his original agenda. “There you are.” said Greg, reaching toward his locker behind a stifled Mycroft.

The steam that Greg carried from the shower seemed all too reluctant to leave his side, they permeated the room, clouding Mycrofts’ eyes. He felt as if he might melt on the spot like a wax doll.

Their entire conversation was conducted with a row of lockers between them. Mycroft listened to the ruffle of clothes and the dangling sound of Greg’s belt as the other man dressed himself on the other side, fighting down an impossibly dangerous urge to peek. Oh how the circumstance had brought him back to his early adolescent years, where a young Mycroft averted his eyes with an outrageous blush in the boys locker room, while the fleeting image burned a hole in his feeble mind.

“Thanks for that, know you hated every second of it, standing in a humid public locker room. Hope we meet in your government issued vehicle next time, yeah? ” Greg walked around the barrier with a small drawstring bag thrown over his shoulder and a tie in his other hand. His shirt, crisp and fresh and a touch too big, had its top two buttons undone.

“Most likely.” The familiar heat rose in Mycroft’s chest and he forced it down. He needed to get out of there. He could start sweating any minute now. Too warm, too hard to breathe.

As they walked out of the facility, Greg to his own car and Mycroft safely returned to his assistant, who was grinning perhaps a little too knowingly at him for a depressing Monday ahead of them, Mycroft realized he would love to spend every Monday morning like this for the rest of his life.

The phantom of a truly happy life, a mere possibility, terrified him.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_ When Echo saw Narcissus as he pursued the chase upon the mountains, She loved him and followed his footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest accents and win him to converse! but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had answer ready. One day, being separated from his companions, Narcissus shouted aloud, “Who’s here?” Echo replied, “Here.” Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one called, “Come.” Echo answered, “Come.” As no one came, Narcissus called again, “Why do you shun me?” Echo asked the same question. “Let us join one another,” said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms around his neck. He started back, exclaiming, “Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!” “Have me,” said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went off to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word. _

 

* * *

 

Mycroft waited quietly as the shower ran on in the other room. He stared at the wet tiles beneath his shoes, umbrella in hand. 

His upbringing had told him that the very thing he feared was the thing he most needed to confront. “Stare right at the face of the beast,” they say, “then you won’t have to run from it no more.” 

The tap was turned off. Silence. He swallowed and felt a bit too nervous for his own good. 

The beast had a name, called ‘hope’. A ghastly thing, creeping on the bottom of your heart, when you are staring at the person you love more than anything and yet could not have.

“Detective Inspector.” He said as the footsteps approached, taking his time to look up at Greg. 

“Christ alive.” The man in question stumbled in surprise, his hand went up to his heart as he recovered. “Scared the living shit out of me, Mycroft.”  

“Apologies.” Mycroft blinked, feeling the increasing need to sit down on something as a half naked, fresh out of the shower Greg approached. 

He had been dreaming about this sight for a month now. 

“No no, good to know that you’re back from your trip.” Greg stepped up closer, smelling of sweet scented shampoo and soap. “The case you were worried about a month back, it was all sorted eventually.” 

With each breath, the steam piled up in the back of Mycroft’s throat.

“Not with some considerable trouble, I heard.” 

“Yeah...well, you should’ve seen their faces back at the Yard, when I said I needed help to rescue your brother from the London Eye.” Greg laughed like it was no inconvenience to him at all. 

“I...thank you. It would have been easier if I was there.” Mycroft replied. 

Dampened lashes and dancing eyes, Greg’s gaze on him was properly irresistible. So he stared, finding it impossible to look away. 

“Hmm. Right, so… Sherlock?” Greg urged him on, to reveal the real purpose of his visit.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft took in a breath. What about Sherlock? His excuses for coming to the place seemed to be slipping away from his mind. 

Greg observed him for a few seconds, then asked out of the blue: “Hang on, when did you arrive back in London, Mycroft?”

“When did I…?”

“Just answer the question for me, yeah?”

Mycroft was at a loss of words.  _ What is the purpose of this sudden interrogation? _ He felt embarrassed and on edge, though he knew the kind detective would never mean for his discomfort. 

“You won’t answer because it was this morning, was it?” Greg asked. 

_ He couldn’t have known. How on earth would he know? _ Mycroft held the man’s gaze, wide-eyed, all the blood rushing to his face.

“Now, you still want to tell me this is about your brother?” Greg’s hand lifted and reached out to mycroft’s shoulder. It hesitated, tantalizing, ghosted over the surface of his sleeve. Too close. The touch---before it even landed on Mycroft’s body, seemed to have a force field of its own, it was pulling every floating fragment of the world toward it. Mycroft felt as if his existence warped around the tips of Greg’s fingers, the edge of his palm---unbearably, unbelievably close. 

His breaths drew so tight, nevermind speech, nevermind explaining. Mycroft worried his lungs might burst. 

“This...IS about S-sherlock.” He gulped after the reply. 

“No.” Greg shook his head lightly, like a disappointed teacher at the incorrect answer to his question.

“N-no?” Looking confusedly at the man slightly shorter in height, Mycroft’s brows screwed together in desperation, so scared of the conclusion that they were about to reach. All the dignity and resemblance he built up over the years threatening to fall, all it would take was just one sentence. One realization. He held onto his umbrella like it was an anchor midst a storm. 

Before him, Greg’s face offered no clue to him with certainty.

“You have just arrived at Heathrow less than an hour ago from a one month trip, and yet you headed here straight from the airport.” Greg murmured softly. He was beginning to smile, and for the love of God Mycroft could not tell if that smile was good news or a prelude to his doom. “If I don’t know you well enough, I’d say you, for some reason, has an emotional attachment to this place.” 

So this was it. Mycroft and all of his absurd desires, at the mercy of Greg Lestrade.Surely he trusted the man to never hurt him? At least, not deliberately… 

Mycroft snorted, bitterly. “Do you question all your suspects this way, Inspector?” 

Greg paused. He lowered his face and pulled back his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “God, I’m not accusing you of anything, Mycroft. But how am I ever gonna… for God’s sake, how else can I get the truth from you?” 

_ If you already know the truth, why do you torment me still? _

“How I schedule my errands have nothing to do with---whatever you’re implying.” Mycroft stilled himself as he blatantly lied. He might just get out of this, he thought, save some face, retreat back to his dungeoned office, never see the man ever again. 

“I’m not believing any word you said just now.” Greg looked up.

“W-why?” 

“Because you look scared.” Greg said, “You say the opposite of what you mean when you’re in fear.”

Greg was right. He was fucking terrified. 

Mycroft blinked down, his eyes sore. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of Greg too many times, for too long.  _ So weak, so stupid.  _

_ Please just end it. Make it swift. _

“No--no, no. Hey, look at me?” Firm hands went to hold Mycroft’s jaw. He trembled at the twist of events. “I don’t mean to out you like that...Know you’re scared.” 

Hands, slid down his sides, into his palms. Greg wrenched the umbrella handle out of his grasp and dropped it. It went to the floor with a whoosh. 

“Just...don’t be.” 

Mycroft could see the moisture under Greg’s breathtaking eyes, his skin glistened.

Greg guided Mycroft’s trembling hands to his waist. The fuzziness of the towel that encircled Greg’s body distracted him.

“I’ll take care of you.” He said.

Mycroft’s brain was at a halt. He closed his eyes for a fraction and imagined what it must have looked like, Greg standing in his arms. Him in his suit, their noses overlapping, lips inches apart. 

All of his senses augmented, and all of a sudden, the world became louder, clearer, bursting with brilliancy. 

But what on earth could all of this mean?

“Stop worryin’” Greg said.

“I--I can’t.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Greg laughed, capturing his mouth, and Mycroft surrendered himself to sensation. Greg licked the seal between his lips, and he granted him access. It was a full on invasion, and he felt claimed. 

Mycroft buried his hand in the damp, silver hair, water gathered between his fingers, like combing through a patch of fresh grass at dawn. His crisp white cuffs got wet and started to lose shape, but he could not have cared less.

“Go on.” Greg pulled back a little, gesturing to the towel at his waist. 

“You.. want me to---”

“Why on earth not?” Greg smiled, his teeth so bright. 

Mycroft reached down with a shaking hand, and unfastened the cloth. Greg’s body freed as the towel dropped to his feet, his cock was already half hard, a shade darker than the rest of his skin, rising from his crotch, inches close to Mycroft’s suit trousers. 

_ Magnificent  _ was the word. 

“God,” Greg groaned next to his ear. “Have you any idea...when I saw you standing there...when I heard your voice.” Greg pressed his naked body to Mycroft’s. “I want to pull you back into the shower with me, just like that, in your million pound tailored suit.” 

“Christ.” Mycroft gasped at the contact.

“Oh-fuck.” Greg moaned. The sound sent shivers down Mycroft’s spine. “And the first time you were here, looking down at me like that by the pool...Jesus.” 

Greg took hold of Mycroft’s waist beneath his jacket, and pulled them together, his cock slipping between Mycroft’s clothed thighs. They exhaled together.

“God, make a sound for me, there’s no one elese here but us.” Greg said as he rutted against him. Mycroft, for a moment, looked terrified.

“Or not.” Greg’s hand soothed down his back, eyes so gentle. “Save it for later. When I really do get into your pants, yeah?”

“W-what?” Mycroft was having a hard time focusing, with Greg’s cock a heavy line pressing on the soft flesh beneath his balls. 

“I’ve got to leave in a minute.” Greg murmured between breaths. 

“Right.” Mycroft stiffened a little.

“‘M so sorry.” He started to step back as Greg apologized. He was so hard, his body ached for release as the pressure began to disappear. 

_ The world is just so, so unfair. _

Greg pulled him back into a slow kiss. It was sorrow he felt. A pang of dissatisfaction. He wanted to coax the man back to his car, shuttle him to his apartment and have his way with him there. Or hell, just do it in the car. 

“Promise you’ll call me.” Greg rested his forehead on Mycroft’s shoulder as Mycroft struggled to come up with a reply, or a rejection. “You want this as bad as I do, yes?” He asked.

“Yes.” Mycroft echoed.

 

God knows what Anthea had on her dirty mind when she discovered that her boss came out of the changing room later, hair disheveled, trying desperately to conceal a semi. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft didn’t call. 

With the last report handed in, the Detective Inspector had his day miraculously cleared at five pm sharp. He decided to return home and watch telly, maybe even do some nice home cooking for once. 

All of his planning was out of the window when he walked right into an empty parking space in the Yard’s garage. His car was gone. 

“What the---” Greg said under his breath as he fished for his phone. 

Who would believe it. An officer’s car, nicked in the Yard’s own parking garage. 

“Your vehicle is in safe hands, Detective Inspector.” A vaguely familiar voice appeared behind him. Greg turned around, it was Anthea, or at least that was the name that woman wished to be called. 

“This is another one of his kidnappings, is it?” Greg said, not quite able to stop grinning at her. 

First time ever in their conversation, Anthea locked her mobile and put it out of sight. “Mr. Holmes is on his way back to his living quarters. He has invited you to join him there.” 

“That’s unusual.” Greg forced down the urge to wink at her. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s one of the usual ones, Inspector, no.” The young woman smiled back at him and gestured to the black car behind them. 

Her smile looked genuine for once.

A lot of firsts this evening, then. 

 

Mycroft came back to his apartment and heard the sound of shower in the master suite. A strange contentment rose in his chest. 

Mycroft lay down his suitcase and umbrella, and undressed himself to a plain shirt and trousers. As he walked into the master bedroom to hang up his clothes, he found the bathroom door adjar. 

“Mycroft, that you?” Came Greg’s muffled voice in the shower.

“Yes.” Mycroft pulled out a hanger from his closet.

“Had to go into a scene today...smelled like a...dead body, to be exact.” Greg kept on saying. And Mycroft wondered how this man could sound so casual, standing in his shower, preparing himself for physical intimacy...And yet, Greg sounded as if they have been together for years. “Your ‘butler’ person said it was okay for me to use the shower, er, was that your butler?”

“In a sense, yes.” Mycroft closed the closet door with a soft click. Possessed by a sudden impulse, he walked to the half-opened bathroom door.

“Anyhow, hope you didn’t mind--” Greg was lathering shampoo on his hair, foam and water poured down his back. Mycroft stepped closer.

Greg opened his eyes for a crack, and his voice trailed off as he saw Mycroft standing at the threshold. 

Hot steam closing in around him, Mycroft said nothing back. He held Greg’s gaze, and stepped straight into the shower. 

“Holy fuck.” Greg said as Mycroft backed him up against the solid cold wall behind them and kissed him hard. It was a strange feeling, like running into a burning waterfall. The shirt and trousers became damp and heavy, clinging to his skin. Greg’s body slippery under his touch. Water fell from the top of their heads and shattered all of his hesitation into fine mist. Mycroft shut his eyes tight and kissed the man full heartedly. Greg collapsed into him, responding every stroke of his tongue. 

Greg’s lips tasted bitter from the soap in his hair. 

Moments later, they parted and gasped for air, mouths gaping, smiling till it hurt. Greg held Mycroft’s face, thumbs pressing next to his ear. “You’re unbelievable, Mycroft Holmes.” 

_ No, you are. _ Mycroft whispered quietly in his heart. Greg’s low hanging eyelids reduced him to shambles. He wanted to be the droplets that lingered on his lashes, the silver line of beads that fall from his chin. 

_ Even the water loves you. _ He wanted to say. 

Greg’s hands smoothed down the soaked fabric on his shoulder. “Now, what did you do with my car?” Greg asked, all the while doing a terrible job with pretend anger. 

Mycroft chuckled out loud. “I was hoping you’d overlook that fact.”

“I could’ve drove here myself, you know.” 

“Hmm.” Mycroft hummed, blushing in Greg’s arms. 

“I get a feeling...that you really like having me chauffeured around the city.” 

“I do.” Mycroft confessed. He looked down at Greg’s fingers playing over his shirt collar. “Go on.” He encouraged.

Greg laughed, lowering his head and latched his mouth onto the soft skin on Mycroft’s neck, licking and nipping as he started unfastening the buttons one by one, pushing the suspenders off his shoulder. 

Mycroft opened his mouth and exhaled with a sound. He heard Greg’s deep moan in response immediately. 

Greg peeled off his clothes, the pile of fabrics lay ruined next to their feet, discarded. Mycroft’s hands went down to cup his arse, and pulled their flesh against each other. Greg shuddered and swore against his mouth. Mycroft closed his eyes as Greg’s hardened cock slid against his own, his face a heated mess, his brain turned into soup.

Mycroft wanted to wrap a hand around both their cocks and draw out the climax and relief he had been yearning for since months ago, but the reason why he took his time lied within the wait itself. 

The moment was loaded with so much anticipation that he needed to feel every little rush of pleasure it brought him, lest they ruin it in one hasty act of lust. 

Perhaps, as much as Mycroft wanted to deny it, Greg meant far more to him than just a quick shag. 

Greg turned around with a wink and pressed his chest to the wall, and Mycroft step up closer, burying his face in Greg’s neck, and pushed his cock between Greg’s thighs. 

“Yes…” Greg moaned as he started moving his arse back in rhythm. Mycroft was only held back from coming right then on the spot by the fear of irredeemable embarrassment. Greg’s stretched his hands back and wriggled his fingers about before Mycroft gave out his own, already pruney because of the water. “Hold me again-” Greg said has he drew Mycroft’s arms around his abdomen, drifting low under his belly. 

Happy to oblige, Mycroft pressed a palm to Greg’s stomach and circled his cock with the other hand. He kept the pressure feathery light as he stroked through Greg’s beautiful length, and teased with some malice intent, dancing his fingers at the tip. 

“Thank God. Oh--that’s just…---Mycroft, be fucking gentle with me okay? I don’t want to come just yet.” Greg’s body responded wonderfully under Mycroft’s touch.

“Like this?” Mycroft pulled his hips back a bit, then thrust his cock into the crack beneath Greg’s cheeks. His hand jerked Greg’s own cock with the motion. 

Greg’s legs noticeably shook, so did his voice. “Oh shit---Don’t you dare make me, I want to come with you inside...dammit.” 

And that, was perhaps the reason Greg Lestrade deserved whatever affection Mycroft held (though involuntarily) for him. While Mycroft fended off sworns of sycophants who lavished him with praises, attempting to fool the most observant man on the planet, Greg was the only person who made him felt truly needed, and so, so precious. 

Mycroft smiled to himself, and made a mental note to himself that Greg liked his shower a several degrees hotter than his own. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright... had too much fun in the last few days and caught a cold... But I'm back! With the last chapter of this story!  
> A full chapter of mostly just smut....I should do something about my content planning, I know :/  
> Now, I don't really know how I managed to stretch the narrative into so many chapters, but 'the sex' is finally fully orchestrated and phew! This took me way more words than I imagined. 
> 
> ...But please do enjoy! only the best for you guys.

 

 

The next thing Greg knew, he was pushed onto Mycroft’s queen bed. He felt the sheet sticking to his damp skin on his back. Greg’s gaze had not left Mycroft for a second as the man crawled on top of him, hard as burning iron, poking his under his navel.

Greg weaved his hand through Mycroft’s dripping wet hair, pulling away the strands that were stuck to his temple. The tenderness in his touch made Mycrofts’s heart ache. “You need to get wet more often, this is… so damn hot.” Greg said, as he took both Mycroft’s cheeks in hand and pressed a kiss against those thin lips.

Greg hummed lowly, and Mycroft felt himself melting in adoration. This kiss extended into a long and passionate one. When Mycroft finally broke away, he could no longer differentiate Greg’s body to his own. They were morphing and forging together into one, by their tangled limbs and Greg’s pelvis lifting up towards him. Mycroft held himself with shaky arms, taking a moment to consider how he would proceed.

Greg looked at him with eyes full of patience and understanding. “Don’t ask.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry?” Mycroft blurted out.

“Don’t ask, whatever you want, just go for it, darling. Surprise me like you did earlier.”

For a moment or so, Mycroft just stared back in silence. He was completely baffled by the fact that he somehow managed to get this wonderful man lying with him in bed.

He never thought he’d deserve this in a million years.

Greg reached out his smooth his hands down Mycroft’s chest, feeling his stomach, his lower abdomen, and lower still. Mycroft’s muscles contracted to the lightly sprinkled touch.

The man was mapping him, he realized.

“Brings more fun to it when you just...go for it, do you think so?” Greg said.

Mycroft swallowed and nodded. _He has to know how that look of his can set the whole world on fire, right? He has to know, the way he stared._

“‘Mkay...I’m now starting to think you’re deliberately making me wait.” Greg bit his bottom lip and nudged up a little to increase the pressure between their bodies. “That’d be pretty manipulative, even for you.” He said.

_Now, that’s an idea._

Mycroft smiled to himself and ducked his head down. He used his tongue to caress and label out every hidden point of pleasure on Greg’s body. Feeling territorial and possessive, Mycroft was transfixed by every moan that Greg gave him in return, and every uncontrolled twitch of his body. When Mycroft grazed over his nipples, Greg threw his head back and whimpered, and he drank in the entire sight.

Mycroft continued his exploration, or rather, a somewhat attentive torture in Greg’s terms, with a strange sense of satisfaction. He licked a line down the center of Greg’s stomach and ran his fingers along his sides while the man squirmed and yelped under him.

“Ticklish much?” Mycroft asked, flicking his gaze up, only to see Greg with two arms folded behind his head, looking back down at him with warm eyes and a soft smile.

“Um...no, just,” Greg shook his head lightly as he reached out one hand. His thumb swept over Mycroft’s chin and held his face up. “feels nice.” Greg blinked lazily.

 _A little excitement might help along the way._ Mycroft thought to himself, as he leaned into Greg’s hold and hid a kiss in his palm. Mycroft slid further down and pushed Greg’s thighs apart with a smile.

Even in the dim light, Greg’s pupils visibly swelled like two drops of dark ink in his eyes.

“Bloody hell.” Greg swore quietly as Mycroft wrapped a hand around his rock-hard erection, and took it into his mouth.

Mycroft felt Greg’s dense cock sliding in, a heavy weight atop his tongue and made his lips stretch. Thwarted by the soft flesh guarding his throat, Mycroft was warned by his body to not push down any further, but he rebelled with a frustrated groan, and shoved it in until his chest clenched and complained before it made him gag. Mycroft did not get a chance to notice how Greg’s eyes rolled into his head as he pulled back and saw through some tears that beautiful cock sprung back to place from his mouth, a silver line attached to his bottom lip, glazed from root to tip in his saliva.

“Mycroft…” Greg called, fingers lacing into his hair.

Mycroft replied with an inquisitive hum, though its purpose might have actually been to provoke. He stuck out his tongue and twirled the underside of the head until Greg started to beg.

Greg did make him feel like he was way too good at this.

“Shhh...Concentrate.” Mycroft granted the man a moment to breathe before he leaned down again and dragged his tongue up his scrotum.

Greg’s wide spread thighs shivered and threatened to close. “God.” He gasped, “You shouldn’t be allowed to do that. ”

Mycroft looked back into Greg’s flushed expression for a moment. The sheer passion behind it pained him. Hands tingling with the surge of adrenaline, Mycroft lifted Greg’s legs by their ankles. Greg swallowed and folded them obediently. His chest heaving, some creases appearing on the smooth skin of his middle as he rolled up his body.

“Yes. Have me.” Greg moaned perhaps a bit too loud as Mycroft’s tongue worked his hole, even himself was startled. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck--” Greg panted, moist eyes and red tinged cheeks. “The things you do to me, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Things that are to your liking, I suppose.” Mycroft replied, taking a moment to gather supplies from the nightstand. He couldn’t help being a little smug.

“Yeah, fucking hell. I’m losing my mind over you.” Greg murmured the last  part of that sentence in such a way that it sounded almost like a delicious confession. Mycroft, half stretched out toward the edge of the bed, turned nervously to observe his sincerity.

They locked eyes.

“Yeah, Mycroft.” Greg repeated quietly, tilting his head to one side. “Now come here, you sexy bastard.”

Mycroft sensed a whoosh of panic in the back of his mind when Greg pulled him back. He tumbled in doubt and marvel, off-balance on top of his Gregory both quite literally and emotionally.

There he was, kissing Greg. His hand holding lube and condom awkwardly, wrist digging into the mattress beside their heads. “Come on--please. It’s all I want-It’s been too long.” Greg pleaded between kisses. Mycroft pushed a finger into his hole, feeling Greg’s change breath on his own cheek.

“Alright?” Mycroft asked as he pulled it out and pressed the second finger inside.

“Mmm-Hmm.” Greg nodded and kissed his temple, his heart pounding loudly beneath him.

Greg’s inside was warm and slick with oil. As Mycroft put in the third finger, Greg exhaled and started to rock slightly with his rhythm.

Mycroft curled his finger and Greg’s entire body shook, moaning into his mouth. “Oh--God.” He said as he arched his body, “Fucking hell. Are you some kind of sex wizard?”

Mycroft chuckled. “No wizardry was involved there, I assure you, just simple anatomy.”

Greg shook his head, smiling. He wrapped his legs around Mycroft, knees stroke Mycroft’s bare waist. “Look at me like this when you fuck me, yeah?”

Mycroft caught his mouth in a fierce kiss as he nudged his penis against Greg’s entrance. He reached for the condom beside the pillow but Greg grabbed before him and threw it over his head toward the end of the bed with a grin.

Greg’s passage was tight so they went one inch at a time. Greg kept his fluttering eyes open while Mycroft thrust into him, hyperventilating, swearing and moaning. When Greg’s hole swallowed in his entirety, words no longer made sense and thoughts escaped him. Greg held his shoulders while they rocked together, breathing and moving in sync. Their moans chased and echoed one another and their kiss growing more fervent one after the next.

Greg’s body was a miracle in itself, and the noises he made were pure bliss. Mycroft had rarely won anybody over without fear and intimidation before, now he wondered if he was ever truly belonged to anything, or anyone in his life. Compromised was he, authenticity and vulnerability flowed out of him without a floodgate. He was open, naked and free, feeling so small and invincible at the same time.

“Christ, I gotta--yes, fuck me, take me--” Greg whined as Mycroft quickened his long, deep strokes and pounded hard against Greg’s flesh. Greg grabbed his own cock and started to jerk himself frantically. Mycroft felt the pleasure built up, his body yearning for relief, his chest burning.

At the brink of climax, Mycroft slowed and stiled.

“Wait--no--w-what--? What’s wrong?” Greg blinked, confused. “Are you--are you fucking edging me right now?”

“I could be.” Mycroft smirked, setting aside his sensation, and how the warmth surrounding his cock was eating away his mind.

“No, no, no please, I--- I need that cock of yours moving inside me. _Now_.” Greg hissed, face tightening with frustration. “need you to fuck me hard til we both come.”

Mycroft held Greg’s hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “As you wish.” He said softly. “Could you, perhaps…”

“-Yes.” Greg jumped on board before Mycroft even managed to finish the request. “Anything.”

 _You adorable, wretched paradox of a man._ Mycroft chuckled, wondering where his heart had vanished to. “I want you on top, please.” He said.

“Yeah, okay.” Greg said, his pupils huge.

 

Greg knelt on the bed. Knees wide apart beside Mycroft’s hips as he slowly sank down, biting his bottom lip. When Greg fit all of his cock inside, Mycroft let out a shaky breath he did not know he was holding.

When Greg kicked his hips forward and planted his palm on Mycroft’s chest, Mycroft understood that his heart had gone to Greg. In fact, it had escaped his miserable, empty chest a long time ago, and was drawn by Greg. His light, his charm, his beauty, his wonderful kindness and honesty. Mycroft did not mind in the least. Wherever Greg was, there was comfort. It was a good plan for safekeeping. Long-term safekeeping, if the world was so kind to permit such a miracle.

“Heavens, Gregory--” Mycroft gasped as Greg slammed a hand on the headboard behind him and picked up his pace. “God, make my cock twitch when you call me that--” Greg groaned through closed teeth as he lowered his head as he rolled his hips, sending Mycroft’s head into a dizzying spin.

Mycroft drew a line up Greg’s throat. Greg opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around Mycroft’s finger. All the blood in his hand rushed to the tip of his finger as Greg sucked on it, circling it his tongue. Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment and cried out Greg’s name once more.

“Just look at you...so perfect, everything about you…” Greg panted into his palm. “Fuck...I’m never getting off this cock, just sayin’”

“You will have to dismount, eventually.” Mycroft huffed.

“Make me.” Greg said.

Mycroft dug his heels in the mattress and thrust upward into Greg with force, driving into just the right place. Greg’s body tensed, his raspy moan giving Mycroft all the encouragement he’ll ever need.

“That’s it, oh God--Mycroft, Mycroft, so close--” Greg cried, a few moments later, grounding down on him, a frantic hand around his own cock. “Can I--Are you---? Wanna...together--”

“Yes.” Mycroft breathed, and drove up into Greg, hard.

Climax seized them both just seconds apart. Greg came shouting Mycroft’s name, spilling onto his stomach. His inside drew up so tight, and Mycroft lost all sense of himself. All he saw was the warm light at the top of his ceiling, shining down a gold rim behind Greg, who looked down at him like a face of God. Greg’s beautiful eyes. His forehead covered in small beads of sweat. The image whirled as Mycroft’s vision blurred, his orgasm burned it into an imprint in the back of his head.

 

Greg took a few moments to find his breath. Then he ran hastily into the bathroom and came back with tissues. “Sorry ‘bout that. Bit carried away.” He apologized to a dazed out Mycroft as he cleaned him up and collapsed beside him.

“That was just.” He said.

“Mmm.” Mycroft agreed lazily.

“Can I kiss you again?” Nervousness flashed behind Greg’s eyes.

“Don’t ask.” Mycroft murmured, and leaned in.

The kiss was slow but thorough. Greg smoothed Mycroft’s hair back with his palm and ended it with a soft peck on the forehead. “Alright.” He said, sounding a little distant. Mycroft’s heart sank.

“Is it time for me to get killed off somewhere and pickled for consumption, now that the mating is complete.” Greg continued.

Mycroft chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He said. “For the type of insect you are referring to, the scenario would involve you fucking me first and not the other way around.”

Greg burst out laughing, and Mycroft laughed along with him, their faces inches apart. “Stay, Greg.” Mycroft said, with smiles still on their faces and still hurting their cheeks.

“You’re serious?” Greg’s eyes were wide.

“Yes.” Mycroft said, looking back at him.

“It’s a Saturday tomorrow.” Greg’s hand went around Mycroft’s waist. He was visibly more relieved, and perhaps a little more daring.

“A Yes to that as well.”

“Do you have work?” Greg asked, hopeful.

 _Sod the work._ “Nothing Anthea can’t handle by herself.” Mycroft replied, never once feeling so eager for a holiday before in his entire career.

“What will you say to her?” Greg asked, skeptical.

“That you and I extended our meeting to a multi-day conference.” Mycroft said. “And preferably she will inform my other associates that I am again, out of town.”

“You’re going to make Anthea a very happy woman.”

“A happy WORKING woman, more importantly. Only the best intel for Miss Anthea.” Mycroft agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small addition to the story, a little more progress... didn't plan it when I first wrapped up this story, but ideas came along and behold a new chapter with a lot of action :) Enjoy!

 

They had been dating for over a year now. He couldn’t ever convince his lover to join the pool with him, despite his countless efforts. 

He knew, of course, that Mycroft just wasn’t the kind of man who’d run home after work every night to get out of his business attire and change into some ugly sweatpants without his top on. Even his pajamas had more buttons than Greg’s ‘very formal occasion’ shirt. 

Since some time ago, Mycroft did grow accustomed to rushing home every night for the sole purpose of shedding his fancy suits - though it was for an entirely different kind of relaxation. 

And Greg had stopped trying to talk Mycroft into swimming with him. His initial argument as to why it would be the best idea ever - “Oh but it’d be so sexy to be in the water with you” fell apart completely when Mycroft asked him to “reschedule the time of your exercise so you can shower home after the swim”, clearly having something planned in his magnificent mind. When Greg came home the next day from his work-out, feeling awfully uncomfortable with the state of his hair, he found Mycroft sitting in the living room with a book in hands. 

Mycroft was home before Greg, which was unusual. 

“Not stalled by an emergency meeting with the PM tonight, I see.” Greg said, dropping his bags on the floor, grinning. 

“Not tonight.” Mycroft closed his book without taking a single more glance at it. Greg was willing to bet a tenner that he must have lost the page - “and even if he called in distress, I would direct him to one of the younger analysts who’d gladly sacrifice their mental health in service of the country.” 

“And  _ you  _ wouldn’t?”

“Not tonight.” Mycroft said softly. When Greg stood close enough to where he was sitting, Mycroft stretched his body forward. A moment later, Greg had his lover’s face pressed to his stomach, tender hands around the small of his back. 

Greg could feel the bridge of his lover’s nose, and hear Mycroft’s sharp inhale as he nuzzled lower and slipped out of the settee, sinking down to the carpet.

“The way you smell after…” Mycroft said, his fingers playing coy against Greg’s thighs but his voice incredibly sincere. “It’s…refreshing.”

Greg’s hands went to touch Mycroft’s soft hair, the man leaned into his touch and murmured thoughtfully, “we should take a weekend out of the city, to a...reserve of some kind, with swimming facilities.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Mycroft said, pulling Greg’s trousers down with the unhurried confidence that sent all of the blood from Greg’s head hurtling down to his cock. “-and I’d greet you when you come out from the water, I’d be waiting for you... so that I can get my hands on you as soon as you-”

“-Finish.” Mycroft breathed, as Greg’s swollen cock jumped free from the constraint of clothing. The air that blew from the last part of his utterance brushing ever so gently on Greg’s exposed, sensitive skin. Mycroft smiled, ducking, only to lick a wet line up Greg’s shaft.

“-while you are dripping,” Mycroft said after he flicked his tongue, once, against the tip. His eyes darted up to look at Greg, swirling Greg’s precome behind his reddened lips and, with those eyes he told Greg he was tasting him, thoroughly. 

He continued, locking eyes with Greg from below “-out of breath.” 

Greg for a moment did not know if Mycroft was describing him in an imagined scenario or simply his present state. Greg was, dripping, and out of - “Oh God, Myc.” -indeed. Mycroft’s touch was magnificent, delicious torture, and his words - 

-His words. Broken sentences while his mouth was occupied, lapping and slickening Greg’s cock, making those obscene moist sounds as he wrapped Greg with warmth and teased with those sudden withdraws. 

“-I’d touch you like this, kneel in front of you on the wet tiles and use my mouth on you...sucking the moisture from your damp trousers, licking your cock through heavy nylon-” 

“Please, Myc-” Greg whimpered. He held back the urge to thrust forward and just trembled, letting his voice break with soft and desperate pleas until Mycroft settled into an assuring rhythm. 

It was slow, but cozy. Mycroft wrapped his palm around the base and moved steadily with his mouth, drawing all the extended moans out of Greg’s heaving chest. Greg felt himself being eased into comfort - his whole body vibrated, heating up from the rigidity he carried from the chilly pool water - and then reduced to a feverish, wobbly mess. 

It was laughable - How they all warned Greg at first, telling him Mycroft Holmes is a ruthless creature, only ever known love through a passion for the cold and precise. They were wrong. They were all dead wrong, the ‘great detective who’s never wrong about anything’ included. Mycroft Holmes is passionate like the fire crackling in a stormy winter, that kind of steadfast love Greg wish to come home to.

“Mycroft.” Greg whispered his lover’s name, smoothing his fingers through the auburn strands. It hurt his neck a bit to keep his eyes fixed on his lover, but he stayed that way stubbornly. 

Mycroft hummed in reply, eyes fluttering close, twisting his brows as he went harder, deeper. Greg’s cock caught at the threshold of Mycroft’s stretched throat as he took him in. Pleasure fizzed throughout Greg’s body and sent him dangerously close. 

Greg forced himself to pause. Pulling Mycroft’s gently back, “up, up, c’mere, wanna kiss you, need to kiss you-” as Mycroft rose swiftly and claimed his mouth.

Greg succumbed to just how flimsy his legs felt, and allowed himself to gradually clung onto Mycroft’s taller frame for support. Mycroft held him firm, his hand traveling down to recapture Greg’s throbbing cock trapped between their bodies. Greg’s eyes rolled back as the rising pleasure hit him again.  

“God, Mycroft...” 

Greg saw Mycroft smile before he leaned close to his ear. “I’ve thought about you, before - barefoot, hair damp, a towel thrown across your shoulder, having just concluded your daily exercise.” 

“Oh, fuck...” Greg panted. Mycroft’s hand moved at a quickening pace on his cock. Greg looked down, and felt honestly shocked by how erotic it was to see Mycrot’s pale knuckles around his red swollen member, tugging and squizing his flesh, spreading glistening moisture under his palm. 

Mycroft was still fully dressed, so concentrated at bringing his lover to climax that a thin film of sweat shone on his forehead. The man’s gaze was like ardent torchlight, glittering with mischief, stating the fact that he could make Greg come undone in seconds if he wished to. 

“I don’t recall ever hoping for anything so desperately ever since my miserable adolescent years.” Mycroft confessed, “But I begged my mind to fabricate a dream authentic enough, in which you tugged me by the collar straight into you and kissed me senseless- and so much more.” 

“Tell me.” Greg pleaded.  _ God, please tell me more. Let me know how you want me.  _ Greg’s cheeks burned. He could not help thrusting into Mycroft’s hand or grunting in waves of pleasure. It was so hot, so intense, to have Mycroft exerting all his mind power into finding all the ways that turned him on. 

“-You’d lay your hands on my shoulder and push me down to the floor, pushing your hard cock into my throat until it couldn’t fit any further, and beg me to suck you harder till you come - you would pull back, your come spread across my chest - my darling, would you want that?”  

Mycroft’s eyes were fixed on him, determined and focused.

“Yes, I-” Greg breathed, feeling his muscles clench as the overwhelming need rose to throw him over.

“Yes? Want your come to drip down my thigh all the way to the floor- do you?” Mycroft asked, knowing how his authoritative inquisition arouses Greg to the core. “Want me to carry your scent with me, wear the marks that make me yours, Gregory?”

Greg felt beads of sweat rolling down his back, as the thought cross through his mind that he was going to come harder than he ever known before- as his clever lover fucks his brains out just with dirty talks and a hand job. “I want you mine, love.” so he proclaimed, shivering on the verge of climax.

“Come.” Mycroft said, kissing Greg with the rhythm of his hand as he stroked him through his orgasm. Greg came hard, his load striping Mycroft’s waistcoat as he half collapsed in his lover’s arms. He came like he did in those nights that Mycroft dreamt about- those were the dreams that they shared without knowing. Now those longings came together into one, and the beauty of it shocked them both into silence.

For quite a long time, Greg forgot about speech. He looked up at his lover in his post orgasmic daze, in Mycroft’s gentle gaze was much of the same tenderness, desire, and awe that filled his own.

_ How to describe something so profound and so complex, while it weighs so heavy on your heart, and threatens to burst through your tightening chest?  _ Only after Mycroft spoke those words first, did Greg realize how to formulate his feelings into language. 

“I love you.” He echoed back, knowing that he meant it. 

He had sworn it. 


End file.
